


Frozen Secrets

by enthusiasticsunset



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gosh this is embarrassing, I can't write well I'm sorry, I don't really know what this is, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 04:53:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9368783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enthusiasticsunset/pseuds/enthusiasticsunset
Summary: Tony could never forget the first time he saw Steve....





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi this is my first fanfic so please bear with it. I am always open to constructive criticism though :)  
> Enjoy!

_Tony could never forget the first time he saw Steve, still cold from the ice, lying there unconscious. He had heard many stories about the "great Captain America"; after all, he was all his father ever spoke about. He thought he knew everything there was to know about the First Avenger, memorised every detail of his face from staring at the pictures which decorated his bedroom for hours upon hours. Still, nothing could've prepared him for the first time he first laid eyes on the God-Like creature. He remembers getting the call, the call that changed his life..._

 

"Stark, we found him. He's alive".

Those six words triggered a sudden rush of emotions washing through him, choking him, crushing his insides. Sadness, shock, regret, surprise, nostalgia, excitement, relief, grief, disbelief. So many feelings, feelings he didn't want to feel, wasn't supposed to feel. He managed to force out a choked "thank you", before hanging up and sinking to the floor.

"Funny", he thought, he'd always imagined that moment, yet then when it was happening, he was so nervous. No, not nervous, terrified. The fear began seeping through his veins like a drug in his blood, injected by that one. Goddamn. Phone call. Now he was about to meet his childhood hero, the perfect man he’d aspired to be like since the fresh young age of two. He forced himself to his feet. He could do this, he could do this. He began to take shaky steps towards the door.

“JARVIS, where is Steve Rogers being kept?”

“Hello Sir. Steve Rogers is currently located in New York City, Shield Headquarters. Medical room 17.”

“Thank you JARVIS. Suit-up”

His suit slowly began to assemble itself around his body as he struggled to regain his composure. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he saw him, but he did know that he needed to see him, needed to see his father’s “perfect creation”, his favourite thing.

He flew out of the lab exit into the open air. It was early dawn, 6:30 in the morning, so the sun was only just beginning to peep out from behind the horizon, almost shy to show its face to the world. The sky itself was a colourful array of hues ranging from a deep royal blue to a tender, pale pink. A light, almost translucent orange danced around the emerging sun, bright lavender darting out in long streaks. He should’ve been enthralled, captivated, hypnotised by the sheer beauty of the beautiful painting the planet had put on display for him, yet he was too caught up in everything that plagued his mind that he didn’t notice what was right there in front of him. A shame, really. Before he realised it he was on the outskirts of New York City, about to hit Brooklyn.

His father had told him once that they had found The Captain in Brooklyn, where he was born and raised. As he flew over the bustling streets he couldn’t help but wonder if Steve Rogers had walked along those same streets, or if he had got into a fight on that corner, and so on and so on. By the time he arrived at Shield Headquarters his thoughts were going at a thousand miles per hour, mushed together in a string of “Stevebrooklynhydrarogersstevecaptainstevenazidadstevestevestevesteve”. He tried to contain himself as he sped through the doors but he was too emotional. He had been dreaming of this moment for too long, he needed to see him. He pushed past the affronted security guard, flipping him off as he shouted after him and almost ran to Medical room 17. Just before opening the door, however, all the previous worry and stress and regret came crashing down on him. His vision began to blur and the world started spinning, making him lose his balance and collapse against a wall. His airways felt blocked, like he couldn’t breathe and he was choking choking choking.

Memories of his father flashed into his mind, thousands all at once, but he couldn’t follow them, he got so confused. He started hyperventilating on the floor, his brain filled with just “panicpanicpanic”. In the distance (or was it next to him? He wasn’t sure, everything was echoing around him) he could hear a faint voice worriedly shouting at him

“Mr Stark! Mr Stark! Are you alright sir? Should I call someone?”

He managed to brush them away with a wave of his hand. A panic attack, he told himself, nothing he hadn’t already experienced, nothing he couldn’t handle. Standard procedure; put the head between the legs; breathe in 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 and out 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. He had practised it so many times; it almost came naturally to him. He knew he should probably see someone about it, but he was far too proud for that. He could NOT let anyone in; they would only hurt him more.

“Mr Stark, if you’re ok, you can go in now” the voice said again.

“Time to get a grip and get in that goddamn room”, he thought, “Now or never I guess”.

He hesitantly rapped his knuckles on the door, and then held his breath in his anticipation as he slowly creaked open the door. He hadn’t realised he’d screwed his eyes shut until he was met with complete darkness. “Open your eyes Stark, you idiot. No wonder dad never lov- No, not now. Just do it, what’s the worst that can happen?” He slowly creaked open his eyes, blinded by the bright light that suddenly engulfed him after the pitch black of his eyelids.

Then he saw him, lying there in all his glory. His face was ashen and pale from the years spent in the ice, prominent brow seemingly stuck in a perpetual frown, turmoil and anguish etched onto his flawless face. His eyelashes were long and dark, his lips the same hue as the delicate pink of the sky a few hours earlier. His glimmering blond locks were covered in gleaming little droplets of water where the ice was still melting, dripping down his face and broad, muscular build. It was like someone had snuck into Olympus, stolen one of the gods and laid him down on the table in front of him. He was the most beautiful thing that Tony had ever seen. He made his way to the table and gingerly sat down in the cold, iron chair that had become the reserved seat for one Agent Coulson. He reached out, hesitating for a moment, before brushing away a stray eyelash nestled upon the man’s cheek. His hand rested where it was, unwilling to move as it came into contact with that perfect skin, like jolts had rushed up his arm. While the face he was absolutely not stroking was stone-cold, his hand felt so warm. Why did his hand feel warm? It wasn’t supposed to… It was all so confusing, these things he was feeling, coupled with the overwhelming urge to have a conversation with the man and see his currently hidden aquamarine eyes sparkle with interest.

“Hi. My name is Tony. You don’t know me, but I sure as hell know you. At least, I like to think I do, but we’ve never spoken so…. Sorry, I don’t really know what I’m doing. You knew my dad, way back when he was young, before he became a jackass alcoholic. I always wondered what he was like, before all that. I guess if- no, when, you wake up, I can ask you. Do you remember him? Howard Stark? He made your shield. It was his greatest accomplishment; he never made anything better than that. To be honest, I think he lost the inspiration after you supposedly died. Mom said he was so full of life before. And you, everyone thought you were dead, but now look! You’re actually here and even though you aren’t waking up you’re alive right? Right?”

He couldn’t quite believe that he’d just confessed everything about his dad to this unconscious man, but there was something about Steve Rogers that just drew him in. A voice spoke behind him.

“Mr Stark? We need to run some more tests, I’m afraid you need to leave” said one of the Shield’s Medical Researchers. He got to his feet, brushing a lock of golden hair off that beautiful face.

“I have to leave now Steve, but I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise. Just, wake up ok? Please? Ok. Bye Steve.” He moved to leave the room, stealing a last glance at the man on the table, before closing the door. He felt oddly numb, like something was missing. It had all happened so quickly, that now he didn’t quite know what to do.

“JARVIS? Get me Steve Rogers’ file. I want to look at some… stuff."

“Certainly Sir. What precisely will you be requiring? I have a file here concerning his relations with one Agent Carter. Or perhaps you might be in the mood for some of his battle videos? I hear he looks very handsome.”

“JARVIS, what are you implying?”

“Nothing Sir, I was merely wondering what might take our fancy this afternoon” Afternoon? How long had he been here? “Although I must conclude that Captain Steve Rogers does seem to have very odd effect on you. Quite amusing, really.”

Damn it, he thought, I should never have made him so smart. My own computing system is sassing me.

 

The next day he was back at the headquarters. Steve was still defrosting, but someone finally had the decency to dry his hair this time. Tony nestled into the chair and ran his hand through it. It was so soft, almost feather-like, seemingly glowing, but that was just the way Steve was. He wasn’t quite sure when he began referring to the Captain by his first name, but somehow it just felt right.

“Hey Steve. How are you? The doctor said that you should recover just fine, but they still need to run some tests. They are always running tests now, filling you up with tubes and taking samples of god knows what like some goddamn lab monkey. I’m sorry, I know they are just doing their job, but I hate seeing you like that. It makes you seem… fragile, vulnerable in a way. Does that make any sense? Dad told me you were a tiny scrawny thing before the serum. I find that so hard to imagine, the serum certainly did a great job. Fuck that makes me sound like a creep. Sorry.” From the polite cough behind him, he assumed it was time for more tests. Once again he got up to leave, fingers lingering on Steve’s hair, “I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll come and visit every day. I promise” he said as he left.

 

He kept his promise, visiting Steve every day, finding himself drawn to the Hero. He had this indescribable thing about him, this air of mystery even with all of Tony’s notes and background information on him. It was on his fourteenth visit that Tony realised that he was falling in love with the frozen man. He had moved to sit down in the chair by Steve’s bed as usual, when he noticed someone had shamefully spilled some of their coffee on Steve’s cheekbone. As he took the corner of his sleeve and went to wipe away the intruding substance, his fingertips brushed lightly over the surface of Steve’s lips, causing him to jolt his hand back as if he had just been shocked. He had felt something spark up his arm through his fingers, a sort of fizzing sensation. He gaped down at Steve’s face, memorising each little detail, trying to figure out what could’ve possibly caused him to feel such a thing. His eyes were closed as usual, voluminous, dark lashes drifting down, his prominent cheekbones dipping down into the ample curve of his strong jaw. Cupid-bow lips were parted slightly in order to make space for his breathing tube, resting on his delicate dark rose tongue. Tiny, near-translucent freckles had started popping up across his straight nose, like constellations mapped out across his oh so soft skin. This last though caused Tony to come to the startling realisation that he had been inadvertently stroking the tender skin across Steve’s cheek. This time, however he kept his hand there, silently begging for the Blond to open his eyes, open his eyes so he could stare into them. This last part was rather unusual to Tony’s normal behaviour, seeming practically romantic.

Oh. _Oh_. That explained quite a few things. He was… interested in Steve. As in, romantically interested. Something seemed to slip together in Tony as he came to this rather startling conclusion. Throughout the whole of this internal eureka moment, however, the doctors had been getting increasingly impatient and proceeded to quite literally kick Tony off the premises. He was unfazed by this though as he stood on a Manhattan pavement, staring dreamily into the distance in a rather dumbfounded and confused manner.

 

His visit the next day was to be a triumph, he was sure of it. He had hardly slept the night before, his thoughts otherwise occupied with images of the sleeping blond beauty, however three shots of espresso and a long shower later he felt bright and fresh, impatient to see the object of his affections. As usual, he set off to the Shield Headquarters, waving to the Security guard, even doing a little spin, before bounding up the stairs two at a time up to the medical wing, where he proceeded to roll down the corridors to Room 17 on an abandoned wheelchair. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been in such a good mood.

As he moved to throw open the door in his usual dramatic manner, he stopped quite suddenly. He could hear voices from behind the door, but not the usual doctors’ voices. No. This was a voice Tony had heard before, on an old tape of his father’s. This was a deep, gruff, yet gentle voice. This was his voice, and he from what Tony could gather, he was in quite a frantic state. He threw open the door, his eyes meeting his, melted chocolate and hazelnuts coated in amber reaching liquid pools of aquamarine and sapphire, like the crystal light on the ocean’s surface.

There he sat on the edge of the bed, like a Greek Olympian sculpted by the Gods. His broad, muscular chest was rising and falling with rapid, short breaths of agitation. His t-shirt was stretched tight across his beautiful body, his sweatpants hugged that peachy behind of his and his hair was tousled and messy, a sight which made Tony forget how to breathe for a moment. The man to whom Tony had told even his most personal secrets began to furrow his brow in confusion as he stared right at Tony (who was utterly incapable of forming any form of coherent sentence at this point) and opened slowly opened his mouth the speak, as if unsure of himself.

“Howard? Where am I?”

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh that was pretty terribly written. Sorry!


End file.
